Giry, Monsieur Meg Giry
by BeyondtheSea
Summary: Meg is determined to bring the Opera House back to it's former glory. And if that means bargaining with the Phantom to write a new opera and disguising herself as Monsieur Arber Melville then so be it.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Nope. Don't own nothing!

Chapter One

Keep Your Hand At The Level Of Your Eyes!

xxxxx

There comes a time in every ballerina's life where she has to make a very important decision. She can either be an obedient daughter and listen to her mother, or she can neglect her mother's wishes and try to help save her best friend's life. I chose the latter.

'I have to help Christine.' That was the only thought that passed through my mind as I headed down into the Phantom's lair with the blood lusting mob following about 100 feet behind me.

I hesitated as I reached the edge of the lake. Damn I hated fish. They were just so creepy; the way they swam around your legs, and just started at you with blank eyes. 'There can't be any fish in this water,' I tried to convince myself.

With a quick outtake of breath I stepped into the lake and didn't look back. Didn't look down either. Just kept my eyes straight ahead and hoped that the water would level out before it went over my head. I wasn't the tallest person around so it was quite possible for it to go over my head. Thankfully, the water evened out around my mid thigh. Luck was on my side tonight, it seemed. I was still in my _Don Juan Triumphant_ costume (which consisted of just a shirt, pants, and calf high boots) making it easier to move around, there didn't seem to be any fish, and the lake was shallow.

I had made it about half way across the lake when I felt something swim between my legs. I let out a quick scream before clapping a hand over my month. Stupid fish.

'Okay Meg, keep it together. No more screaming. Stay quiet. Don't bring attention to yourself. Can't help Christine all that much if the Phantom knows you're coming.' My conscious berated me.

'It's not my fault. I'm a screamer. Always have been, always will be. And besides, the fish started it. And I think that the mob behind me has given the Phantom warning enough.' I pouted back trying to justify myself. If my conscious wasn't just a voice, I'm sure it would have rolled it's eyes at me. I crossed the remainder of the lake as quickly as I could.

When I got to the Phantom's lair there wasn't anybody in sight. It looked like all the mirrors had been smashed. I guessed that the Phantom was responsible for that. Christine wasn't aggressive enough to break a hand mirror, let alone all of these; Raoul didn't have a reason to be breaking every mirror in sight. And the Phantom, well the Phantom hated his face to the brink of madness, so why wouldn't he want to break mirrors?

With the quietest steps that I could manage I searched the lair. Looking for any sight of Christine. I found what appeared to be a life sized model of her, I found her _Don Juan Triumphant_ costume, I found a wedding veil, but I didn't find her.

"Christine?" I whispered. Not a sound was heard. Except for the ragging mob, of course. They were almost across the lake by now. As I turned a corner, I came into a very bare room, with what seemed to have nothing but a bed, a music box with a monkey holding symbols and a white mask.

As I picked up the white porcelain mask the mob that had followed me down to the Phantom's lair began tearing everything apart; knocking over candles, chairs, books, head busts, everything. And then they saw it; the organ with sheet music lying on every clean space the organ offered. Whatever hatred they felt for the Phantom before multiplied ten fold; for how dare such a monster create such beautiful music. They had found it; the Phantom's heart, his whole life, the organ embodied everything the Phantom stood for. And the mob couldn't stand it. In the blink of an eye the sheet music was thrown in the lake, ripped, torn, burned. Ruined. For a moment I watched in horror at the scene before me. But as the mob turned to the organ I realized that I had to do something to stop them. Distract them! Confuse them! Anything to get them away from that organ! 'I won't be able to find Christine with all these blockheads annoying the Phantom even more!' I had to get rid of them all, even the police.

"Leave it be." My voice was weak, so were my knees. The mob didn't hear me. "Leave it be." I said with a little more confidence. The mob still didn't even bat an eye. That was it. Christine was in trouble, and the mob wasn't helping anybody; I snapped. "Leave it BE!" I shouted. Complete and total silence fell across the lair. Every head turned towards me.

Benoit, a stage hand that was always drunk and harassing the chorus girls gave me a dirty look and said, "What'd you say, girlie?"

I narrowed my eyes and hissed, "You heard me. Leave. It. Be."

The whole of the mob seemed to hesitate, before Benoit said, "And why should we, girlie?" That nickname was really starting to get on my nerves.

"Excuse me, monsieur, but I am Madame Giry's daughter, so unless you wish to lose your job, you would do well to hold your tongue." Now I knew my mother had no power to choose who stayed and who went, but she acted like she did, and most believed she did, including Benoit. I watched as a flicker of uncertainty flashed across his face. He obviously didn't realize that he was already jobless, just like me. The fire had by now probably destroyed most of the Opera Populaire. The intellect of the group standing before me didn't even constitute for one brain cell. I had them eating out of my hands. "Now then ladies and gentlemen, I suggest that you all return to the upper levels and help out with the fire, I'm sure they need all the help they can get." At the mention of the fire the trance that seemed to be holding the mob broke. They were torn between killing the Phantom and taking care of the fire. "The Phantom's dead. Do you seriously think that he would have let you ruin his music without the Punjab Lasso making an appearance?" This seemed to convince them, and one by one they started heading back. All that was left was Benoit, and the few policemen that had come down. "Go," I said, "I'll clean up here."

At that Benoit said condescendingly, "You? You can't be left down here alone, you're merely a woman." He laughed, and the police laughed with him. My temper started to flare.

"And you, monsieur, are merely a man. And we'll both die someday, so you see, we are not so different after all. Our lives both end the same." My voice was cold and unforgiving. I was not to be reckoned with.

Benoit, not one to be compared to a woman said with a sneer, "come on, there's nothing for us down here." And surprisingly enough, the police turned around and followed Benoit back to the upper levels.

I was now alone in the Phantom's lair with the white porcelain mask still in my hand. I had forgotten about it with all the excitement. I lifted it up to the light, trying to get a better look; now having the time to study the mask that the enigma known as the Phantom hid behind; forgetting for the moment about Christine and the danger she could be in.

But before I had a chance to get a really good look at it I heard a slow clapping rhythm behind me. I didn't need to turn around to guess that it was the Phantom. I took my time turning to face him.

The Phantom was leaning on what seemed to be a frame for what once was a mirror. The whole of his face, torso, and arms was hidden in shadow, but I could still see the outline of a smirk on that face of his.

"Well, mademoiselle, I must say you are a very good persuasive talker." Was he mocking me? The cad. I just saved his music, let alone his life.

"Excuse me? But I just saved your damn life! I think I deserve a thank you." I narrowed my eyes and glared at him.

"Language, mademoiselle, language. What would your mother say?" He tutted. "And I hardly needed saving." He added as an afterthought. If I hadn't known who I was talking to better, I would have thought he was rolling his eyes at me in those shadows.

"You honestly think you could have saved yourself? Against one or two of them. Maybe." The Phantom started as if to come at me, but the desire to stay in the shadows outweighed his desire to strangle me. "But you wouldn't be able to hold your own against all fifty of them." I knew I was making him livid, but I was mad, I didn't care.

"Never underestimate me, mademoiselle. You have no idea what I'm capable of." _Was that a threat?_ "Now, if you would, mademoiselle," out of the shadows the Phantom extended a gloved hand, "I would greatly appreciate it if you would return my mask." The coward. He could at least let me see his face.

"Come out of the shadows and get it then," I knew I was walking on thin ice, but he could've at least stop hiding in the shadows, it was creepy, and talk to me face to face. He did step out of the shadows. A little anyway. He stepped out enough for me to see the Punjab Lasso that he was holding in his other hand.

"You forget, mademoiselle, who you are dealing with, and who's household you are in. I do not have to put up with you if I don't wish." Well… that was true. I had forgotten about who exactly I was talking to, but I was angry and not thinking rationally.

"If you're going to kill me, at least let me see the face of my killer." My voice was ice cold. "I do not fear your face, like some do."

"Like most do, mademoiselle." He corrected. "And all that say they don't fear me have come to regret those words."

"Maybe, but I won't. I know who I'm facing." I tilted my chin definitely. Something of a smirk passed across the Phantom's face.

"Obviously, mademoiselle, you don't. But you are nothing more than a ballet rat, your foolishness is to be expected." The smug and cocky voice of the Phantom was just infuriating me more. At that moment I couldn't have care less if he was the Queen of Sheba or the Opera Ghost, I was just outraged. And those that are angry are not always wise.

"How dare YOU question MY intellect!" I hollered.

As my echo slowly faded away the Phantom spoke quietly, but his voice held a foreboding tone to it. "I must ask you, mademoiselle, not to yell in my household." He didn't want me to yell in his household. He didn't want me to yell in his household. HE didn't want ME to yell in HIS household! Brute. Up until then I had pretty much kept my anger under control, but I was tired, I was cold, I was starting to develop an eye twitch, and my best friend was missing.

"Pardon me, monsieur," I uttered through clenched teeth, "but YOU just burned MY house down," my voice was slowly becoming a screech, "so I think I'm entitled to do a little bit of SCREAMING in YOUR HOUSE!" And to punctuate my point – and just to release some anger – I spun around and threw the unlucky object that happened to be in my hand across the room at the organ. For the briefest of seconds I felt slight satisfaction and relief for unburdening my anger on some inanimate object, but my relief soon turned to absolute horror as I watched a porcelain white mask smash into the organ, breaking into a million tiny little pieces of ceramic, the sound of breaking china echoed all around me. I froze where I stood, facing the organ with disbelief written all over my face. Damn my temper!

Within a second the Phantom had come up behind me and thrown the Punjab Lasso over my head. He wrapped one arm around my torso, pinning my arms to my sides in a very painful way. I could feel the lasso slowly tightening around my neck and forgot to breath.

"You don't seem to understand, mademoiselle," he hissed right next to my ear, "how dangerous I am." His voice was low and deadly. He was going to kill me. I knew it, and he knew it. I let out the breath that I had been holding, as my anger began to rise again. He was going to kill me, and not even allow me to face him as I died. Scumbag.

"Tell me, monsieur," if I was going to die, I was going to die on my own terms, "do you ever look into the eyes of those that you kill?" The tightening of the noose hesitated. I kept on talking. "Buquet? Piangi? Or the dozens of others that died at your hand? Did you ever once look into their eyes as you took the life out of them?" The Phantom's breathing had become ragged and shallow, but in a moment he had composed himself.

"Do you really hold so little value for your life, mademoiselle?" He hissed against my cheek. I let the slightest of smirks grace my face before going neutral again.

"You misread my actions, monsieur, I value my life greatly, I just don't believe you are going to kill me." The Phantom started to tighten the noose again.

"You really are the slowest ballet rat that I have ever come in contact with. Your mother has a fool for a daughter." By now the noose had become so tight that I could hardly talk, let alone breathe.

"Why…" I was starting to see spots from the lack of oxygen, "why… don't… you…"

"I'm sorry, mademoiselle, but I can't understand what you're saying," the Phantom grinned.

"Whydon'tyoufacemelikeaman?" I gasped out.

"Face you like a man, you say?" The arm around my torso began to tighten, "you'll come to regret that, mademoiselle." I let out a strangled gasp as pain shot through me. He would crush my ribs easily, I was sure of it. I struggled against him as best I could with no oxygen. That seemed to just enrage him more as he, in one quick movement, spun me around to face him, relieving my ribs of any further pain, but tightening his grip on the lasso still more. His lips moved, but I couldn't hear any of what he was saying.

I never got to see the scar that covered half his face, for my gaze had lingered on his cheek where the outline of a single teardrop had dried just before I passed out.

xxxxx

AN: Well? What'd you guys think?

Thank you for reading, and please review! Reviews are the only things that keep me going!

BeyondtheSea!


	2. He's Here! The Phantom of the Opera!

Disclaimer: Still don't own it!

AN: Thank you to my two reviewers LY and Maska. This chapter is dedicated to them for taking the time to review!

Please read and review everyone! Thank you!

Chapter 2

He's Here! The Phantom of the Opera!

xxxxx

I was awakened rather rudely when the sensation of biting cold flooded my senses. I gasped and sat bolt up right. I was soaking wet with ice-cold water dripping off my face. I blinked the water out of my eyes and looked around. I was on the floor of the Phantom's lair, presumably right where I had passed out, and the Punjab Lasso had been removed from my neck. It looked as if the Phantom had tried to clean up the destruction the mob had made but gave up half way through. The Phantom stood over me; he had cleaned the dirt and tears off his face and replaced the white porcelain mask. I couldn't help but scowl at the fact that he'd almost killed me over a mask that he had plenty more of. My gaze lowered to his hands, and in them was a wooden bucket with a little bit of water dripping out of it.

"Oh good, you're awake." The Phantom smirked and cocked his eyebrow at me. Swine.

I plastered a big, fake smile on my face and said, "Yes, thank you for that… shocking wake up. I would have thought that there'd be easier ways to go about it rather than drenching me with ice cold water, but I guess I was wrong." I sent him a nice, appreciating glare.

He just tilted his head at me and said, "Indeed."

I suddenly felt very vulnerable with him towering over me. I jumped to my feet just a little too quickly and swayed as a dizzy spell came over me. I put my hand to my head and closed my eyes. 'How long have I been down here?' I thought.

"Three hours or so." The Phantom's voice was detached. I snapped my eyes open. 'Did I just say that out loud?'

"Yes, you did." _Not again_. The Phantom walked passed me and placed the bucket on a chair with only three legs. I suppressed a groan as I turned myself to face him fully.

I opened my mouth to say something, but whatever I was going to say died on my lips as my eyes strayed over his shoulder to a mirror that was cracked, but still in one large piece. There in the looking glass was me looking noticeably ragged and rather like a drowned mouse. Most of my hair had come out of the low ponytail it had been in and was in tangles with clumps of dirt in it. My face also was smudged with dirt, and I grimaced as I heard my mother's voice in my ears. "Marguerite! What a disgrace!" As my eyes wandered lower I noticed a red mark going around my neck. I shoved passed the Phantom and pulled my damp shirt away from my neck to get a better look. I was so close to the mirror that my nose would have touched it if I had gotten any closer. I examined the mark around my neck with vexation. It was a rope burn from the lasso, and it had the lightest of bruises starting to show. 'It'll only get worse before it gets better,' I thought. I watched the Phantom through the mirror; his eyes were lingering on the burn around my neck. His eyes betrayed him; he was astounded at my injury, as if he had never really realized what he's capable of. Outrage surged through me. He had done this to me all because of some stupid mask. And he had others of the same mask! Oaf.

"Monsieur, you really should learn to control that temper, especially after such trivial things." I stated as calmly as I could. My back was still facing him and I was talking to him though the mirror as I still examined my neck. His eyes flashed, but before I could identify with what, they had become impartial once again.

"Why, mademoiselle, I think that lack of oxygen to your brain has caused permanent damage," he sneered at this. "For this, mademoiselle," he raised his arm and lightly touched the mask on his face, "is no trivial thing."

I stood up straight and still talking to him through the mirror said, "No, monsieur, if you have more than one of those white masks," my voice took on the tone of a challenge. I leaned toward the mirror and began to wipe the dirt off my face, "than you can afford to have one broken, therefore making it…" I stood straight up again, leaving the rest of the dirt still on my face alone, "_trivial_."

In a flash he had crossed the eight or so feet between us and spun me around. I tried not to flinch as he grasped my upper arms painfully. 'There'll be bruises there tomorrow.'

'That's if you get to see tomorrow.' My conscious mentioned cynically.

'Oh, be quiet!' I thought with annoyance.

"You're arrogance, mademoiselle, will get you killed one day." He hissed not inches from my face. His eyes held a dangerous glint to them, but I raised my chin defiantly ready to say some retort. But the words never left my mouth as the Phantom's eyes fell to my neck and the dangerous gleam in his eyes vanished. He shoved me against the mirror and took a few steps back. Confusion flashed across his face before he covered it with a mask of disinterest. He straightened up as though trying to shake the confusion off. "I think, mademoiselle, that it is time for you to return to your mother. I'm sure she has been missing you."

At the mention of my mother I remember the world above; the real world. I also remember about Christine and that she could be dead. "I'm not leaving without Christine." I put as much strength in my voice as I could. Trying to tell him that I wasn't afraid of him, or his Magical Lasso.

Something resembling hurt passed over his face at the mention of Christine, before he said with callousness, "No need to worry about her, mademoiselle, for _Christine_," he spit out her name as if it was poison, "has already left." I opened my mouth to respond with some bold reply, but the words died right on my tongue as what he said registered in my mind.

"…What?" I couldn't help but question, whether to myself or to him I wasn't sure, but he answered me all the same.

"Indeed, mademoiselle, " the tone in his voice was noticeably chilly, "she rode away with her knight in shining armor."

I was baffled by this turn of events. "Well, ah… good for… her." I could have slapped myself for saying something so stupid. I'm sure he could have slapped me too. A tense silence fell over us after my idiotic comment.

The Phantom stood very rigid until after a moment he let out a humorless chuckle, and said very dryly, "Yes, may she live happily ever after." And as though to say the conversation was over, he turned and walked away with a sweep of his cloak." I trust, mademoiselle," he said while he organized some books that had been thrown around during the raid from the mob, "that you can find your own way back."

I whirled around to give the lake a contemptuous glance. The memory of that fish still very fresh in my mind. While I was envisioning being eaten alive by a hideous fish, the Phantom had turned his head to me expectantly, "Well, mademoiselle, can you make it back on your own?" He asked again with growing annoyance in his voice.

I turned back around to him, "Isn't there another way out of this place?" I asked feebly, my strength was fading, and the thought of dealing with more fish was making my knees shake.

"What's the matter? Afraid you'll drown in knee deep water?" The Phantom ridiculed.

"No, it's just that—" I started but the Phantom didn't want to hear my excuse.

"Well then, mademoiselle, since you seem to have no problem why don't you get out." The Phantom started to walk away, but I wasn't going to face that fish again unless I had to.

"But, are you sure that there's no—"

"I said, mademoiselle, GET OUT!" I jumped at the Phantom's outburst and started to back up as the Phantom advanced on me. But I didn't get very far, the Phantom was before me in a second, and grabbing me by the upper arms he shoved me into the lake. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" He roared and I did just what he said. I got up and ran as fast as I could across the ice-cold lake, having had my fair share of the Phantom to last me a lifetime and wanting nothing more than to be rid of this fish infested water.

As I reached the opposite shore I heard the sound of breaking glass as the Phantom broke what could only be another mirror.

----------

I felt a surge of satisfaction as I watched the last of my mirrors shatter into a thousand little pieces. Damn that Giry! Damn me for losing control of my temper! Damn, damn, DAMN!

I scanned what was left of my lair. Everything that I owned was destroyed. Everything except my organ, that is. If only that stupid little Giry hadn't stopped that senseless mob from destroying it. With Christine gone the only thing I had left to live for was my music, and that stupid little Giry had saved my organ. She had left me a reason to live.

Stupid girl.

xxxxx

AN: Please read and review, guys! I want to know what everyone thinks of this story! You can tear it apart if you like, just review! Please? Pretty please? With sugar on top?

Maska: I just wanted to thank you for pointing out my language problem, I went back a re-edited the modern stuff. And on the whole 'Erik would know whom Meg' is thing, thanks for pointing that out too, in my head I knew that he knew who she was, I just forgot to write it down. Hehe… I went back and threw in some mentions of her mother, but I figure Erik not calling Meg by her name or last name makes him seem more cold and detached. Thanks for your review again!

Please review, everybody!

BeyondtheSea!


	3. And I Hate My Hat!

Disclaimer: Ha! I wish!

Big thanks to my fabulous two reviewers! And an even bigger thanks to Maska for reviewing for both chapters! Let's give her a round of applause everyone (Clap! Clap! Clap!).

This chapter is dedicated to Maska and Phantomette of the Opera, I'm glad that both of you are enjoying my story!

Please review, everyone!

FRIPERIE: French term for used clothing store.

Chapter 3

And I Hate My Hat!

xxxxx

"Thirty-four. Twenty-five. Thirty-six." Madame Tasse tsked as her assistant, Alita, jotted down my measurements. "You're all skin and bones, dearie, you must gain some weight if you are to ever get those curves that men desire so much." She then turned to Alita, "Try and find Mademoiselle Giry a corset that might enhanced the few curves that she has." Madame Tasse's assistant nodded her head and scurried off. Madame Tasse then turned back to me and gave the dress I was wearing a contemptuous look. I turned to look at myself in the mirror I was standing in front of, and I also gave my dress a contemptuous look. The day dress was horribly outdated with far too many frills and too much lace. It was a dirty yellow, clashing terribly with my skin, gave me a sickly complexion, and was three sizes too big, with a high neck collar, empire waist, and long sleeves, giving me a shapeless and 'curveless' figure. I had never felt so confined in something before in my life. I tugged on the collar a little, feeling as if it just might strangle me.

It had been a month since the Opera Populaire had been destroyed in the fire, and a month since I had been there, since anybody had been there, whether from fear of the Phantom or just from not wanting to remember all that had occurred there, I have never figured out. It had been a month of me wearing these horrid outfits; with no clothing of my own except for the _Don Juan _costume, my mother and I were both forced to visit a friperie where we bought some dresses with the little money Messieurs Firmin and Andrè had given us to help us get buy until we had found new jobs. Most of the dresses the friperie offered were old fashioned, so for a month my mother and I had been wearing dresses from nothing younger than twenty years ago.

It had been a month since I had my run in with the Phantom, and a month later I still had the slightest of bruises gracing my neck, but the bruises went unnoticed because of the high collared dresses I was wearing. No one dared return to the Opera Populaire, so it was that everyone's possessions stayed there gaining dust, while we waited for Messieurs Firmin and Andrè to re-open it.

"Now, Mademoiselle Daae," Madame Tasse addressed Christine, her voice bringing me out of my reverie, "you must decided what kind of dress you would like your maid of honor to wear." Just then Madame Tasse's assistant entered the rented out dressing room with a variety of corsets and undergarments. Madame Tasse plucked them out of Alita's arms and looked them over, tossing some to the side muttering such things as "too big," "won't be tight enough," "won't give enough curves," until she had the 'perfectly curvy' ones. With a few corsets in hand, Madame Tasse turned to me, "Not to worry, Mademoiselle Giry, when I done you'll have more than enough curves to satisfy all of men's cravings," and handing me the corsets she turned to Alita and said, "Lace her up, Alita. I'm going to try and find some dresses for Mademoiselle Giry." Madame Tasse made a quick turn and traipsed out of the large dressing room.

Alita took the corsets out of my arms, and placed them on a chair next to us, as I began slipping out of the dress and corset I was wearing.

"Quite an interesting fashion style, Mademoiselle," Alita observed.

"Yes, well it was all I could afford after the fire," I said snippily. I still felt a tad bit resentful about the Phantom destroying my home, but over the month I had gotten very good at putting it out of my mind.

"Do you mean the Opera Populaire fire?" I saw Christine, who was sitting in a chair off to the side, stiffen at the mention of the Opera Populaire.

We all expected Christine to leave Paris immediately after the fire, but she had no family, and leaving with Raoul before they were married was out of the question so now all Christine could hope for was a quick wedding.

"Yes, I was a chorus girl there." I said as if to finish the conversation, but Alita didn't seem to catch my tone, and continued on, turning to Christine with wide eyes.

"Does that mean that you are THAT Christine Daae?" I saw Christine gripping the armrest so hard that her knuckles turned white.

"Yes," Christine's voice cracked as she answered, "I am that Christine Daae."

Alita clapped her hands together in an excited fashion, "I was there that night you played Elisa in _Hannibal_, I didn't actually get to see you because I had the cheapest seats offered, but I heard you perfectly fine. You were amazing." Alita's voice was earnest, and she was talking very fast, "Are you still going to perform after you are married? Will your husband allow you to sing after the marriage? When will the Opera Populaire re-open? Is it true that La Carlotta is jealous of your talent? What abou—" Alita's questions came to a stop when she saw Christine's face. Christine was paler than pale, and had gone completely still. "Oh no! Mademoiselle Daae, have I offended you somehow? I'm so sorry!" The grip Christine had on the armrest began to lessen as she seemed to be having a battle within herself.

Finally she cleared her throat a little and said weakly, "Not to worry, Alita, I'm fine. And no one's really sure if the Opera Populaire will re-open." For the briefest of moments I wondered why Christine didn't address the other questions, but Alita seemed content with Christine's answer as she turned back to me and started to help me into the new corset. A silence fell over the three of us as Alita started to lace up the corset. I gripped the side of the mirror in front of me and studied Christine. She seemed to be lost in her own thoughts, I wondered if she was thinking about the Phantom.

I gasped a little as Alita tightened the laces of the corset, "I know it's painful, Mademoiselle Giry, but it will be well worth it when the men notice your curves." Alita tightened the corset yet again as I gripped the mirror even more. "It's very peculiar, Mademoiselle Daae," Christine shook her head as Alita brought her out of her thoughts, "that you are looking for a maid of honor's dress before you have found a wedding dress that you wish to wear."

Christine gave her a shaky smile as she said, "Yes, well, I plan on have a very simple dress." Christine said this with a very tight voice, implying that Alita didn't need to be asking such questions about her wedding dress. The thing Alita didn't know was why Christine didn't want to go shopping for a wedding dress just yet. The last time she was wearing a wedding dress had been the last time she had been with the Phantom, her Angel of Music, Christine hadn't told me everything about what had happened down in his lair, but she had told me enough.

I watched as Christine fiddled with her engagement ring, a small simple gold band, with a pear shaped diamond. I guess after the first ring that was taken by the Phantom, she just wanted something simple, nothing too eye catching, her and Raoul had picked that ring out a week after the fire, and since then Christine had thrown herself into wedding plans, not once looking back at the past.

Just then Madame Tasse bustled into the room, with her arms full of all different kinds of dresses. "Now then, Mademoiselle Daae, I have picked the best of our dresses for Mademoiselle Giry to try on, just say which ones you like." A small sigh escaped me, this was going to be a long day…

-----

"If I hear the word _curves_ one more time, I think I just might faint." I laughed as Christine and I left Madame Tasse's Boutique and got into the carriage later that day.

Christine gave a small laugh, "Indeed, Madame Tasse and Alita are two of the most foolish male chasing women I have ever met!" The carriage started to roll and I winced a little as my already sore ribs banged lightly into the side of the carriage box.

"You're one to talk! At least you didn't have both of them trying to give you 'desirable curves to entice men!' I'm almost certain they crushed one of my ribs with those corsets! I've never been laced up so tightly before in my life!" Christine and I continued to talk and laugh as the carriage rolled to a stop into front of our tiny apartment that we had and shared with Maman.

As we entered the parlor, our conversation died on our lips as we noticed a man sitting in a chair across from Maman sipping tea. The man rose to his feet when we entered.

"Oh! Excuse us, Madame Giry, we didn't realize you had company." Christine explained, while I just studied the man.

Maman was never one to take charity, far too proud for it. After the fire Raoul rented out this apartment for us three, gave us a weekly allowance, all the servants that we needed, and permitted us to use any carriage of his that we wished; he took care of us. For a month he had taken care of us, but I knew Maman was getting restless, she couldn't stand having him 'waste' his money on her and me. She was always too proud to ask for help of any kind, and she planned on paying Raoul back for his generosity. I feared that this man would be the man that gave Maman the opportunity to pay Raoul back, and I was right.

"Nonsense, girls. I'd like you to meet Monsieur Cameron." My mother introduced him as he gave us a small bow.

"Good afternoon, ladies." Monsieur Cameron's voice had the slightest lilt. He was a tall man with light brown hair, who seemed to be in his early thirties, and had a kind smile.

"Good afternoon, monsieur." Christine and I both echoed.

"If you would excuse me, monsieur," Christine said with all politeness, "I am meeting my fiancée for supper, and I must get ready, but it was wonderful to meet you." And with that Christine turned around and went up our small staircase to her room. Once Christine had left I looked at Maman suspiciously.

"Monsieur Cameron has asked me to teach his daughter ballet." Maman explained cautiously.

"Yes, she wishes to become a great ballerina." Monsieur Cameron put in with a small smile. "And I just couldn't bear the thought of sending her to some opera house to learn ballet. So I asked many people, and I kept hearing Madame Giry's name. Now here I am, with a newly employed ballet mistress." He laughed slightly, feeling very proud of himself. I turned my eyes to Maman questioningly, but she wouldn't meet my gaze. Monsieur Cameron mistook my questioning look for my mother as one of distress. "Not to worry, mademoiselle, your mother will be able to write you as many letters a day as she likes. As long as it doesn't take up any lesson time. She will also be well taken care of. My house is very large, so she'll have as much room as she needs to teach my little Armelle all there is to know about ballet."

"Oh, really?" I questioned scornfully. Maman finally raised her eyes to mine, she was silently begging me to be accepting, calm. I took a deep breath, and continued, but without the edge in my voice. "I suppose a man as prominent as yourself has a house with an amazing view of the Champs-Elysees and Arc de Triomphe from your house."

Monsieur Cameron gave a little chuckle, as if I had said something funny. "No, mademoiselle, but from the second floor you can see the most amazing view of Big Ben and Parliament. I work in the House of Commons you see, so I live quite near to Parliament." For a full minute I stood completely still, trying to understand what this meant.

Maman was going to live in London. She was going to London so she could teach some brat ballet. Maman was going to London and it sounded like I wasn't invited along…

I was flooded with a million emotions at once; panic, anger, sorrow, uncertainty. And without saying a word I turned and walked up the stairs. When I reached the top I saw Christine sitting at her vanity brushing her hair. I slowly walked into her room and sat at the edge of her bed.

"Meg? Meg, what's the matter?" Christine asked worriedly once she saw my face.

"Maman…" I motioned weakly towards the door, "Maman has accepted Monsieur Cameron's job offer to teach his daughter ballet."

"Oh, well that's good! I know how much your mother hates spending her days doing nothing at all." Christine turned back to the mirror to continue brushing her hair.

"Monsieur Cameron lives in London, England." I stated weakly. Christine slowly placed her brush back on the vanity, and moved to sit down next to me.

"So, your mother is going to live in London?" I nodded my head weakly, wondering if maybe Christine hadn't talked me into going dress shopping today I might have been able to stop Maman from accepting the offer. At that moment I wondered why Christine was so determined to get me to go dress shopping. Today's earlier conversation echoed in my ears.

'Please, Meg! I need to at least get the maid of honor measured if not fitted for undergarments, let alone a dress.'

'I don't need to have my undergarments fitted.'

'Yes, you do. Otherwise the dress will bunch.' I was skeptical, but was so sick of being stuck in that apartment that I had agreed to go.

"Did you know Maman was meeting that man today, Christine?" I asked feebly as I raised my eyes to her face.

She seemed taken aback by my question as she opened her mouth to answer me. "Well… I didn't realize that he lived in London. You mother just said he had wanted to talk to her about teaching his daughter ballet." I nodded and slowly stood up and walked to the door. "I'm sorry, Meg."

I turned around to face Christine. "You better finish getting ready. Raoul will be here soon." And I quietly closed the door behind me as I left her room. My mother's and Monsieur Cameron's voices drifted up the stairs.

"The pay will, of course, be considerable, and you'll get every Sunday and Christmas off."

"That's very generous, Monsieur."

A feeling of betrayal settled in my stomach as I walked to my room and closed the door behind me sharply.

-----

Later that day after the sun had set, Monsieur Cameron had left, and Christine had gone out to supper with Raoul, and after the only candle in my room had died, I silently made my way down the stairs. I was hungry and wanted something warm in my stomach. The house was very dimly lit as I quietly made my way to the kitchen, passing the parlor.

"Meg." I couldn't retain the sigh that escaped passed my lips as my mother's voice drifted from the parlor. I turned around and entered the parlor. Maman was still sitting in the same chair that she had been sitting in earlier, but she rose to her feet when I entered the room and walked over to me, placing her hands on my shoulders, but I shrugged them off.

"I'm tired, I was just coming down to grab something to eat, and then I'm going to bed." I stated flatly. I turned to head to the kitchen but Maman grabbed my arm.

"Meg, we need to talk about this." She pleaded.

"No. We don't." I shook out of her grasp and left the room.

"You just don't understand." She said weakly. I was half way down the hallway, with the kitchen right in my view and Maman was standing just outside the parlor. I turned around to face her; livid.

"No. I understand perfectly! You're leaving me to go teach some spoiled little brat over in England!" I couldn't say whether I was more afraid or angry at her leaving me in France alone. "What about the Opera House!" I screamed. "What about ME!" A silence rang throughout the house after my outburst.

Finally, Maman spoke up. "Oh, but Meg, don't you see?" She placed her hand on the doorframe as though she didn't have the strength to stand anymore. "I'm doing this for you. The Opera House is not re-opening, my darling. It's closed for good. We're going to need the money."

"No!" I shouted, I couldn't let myself believe that. I couldn't let myself give up on what once use to be my home. "The Opera House WILL re-open! It has to! You don't need to go to England!"

"Oh, my love. Even if the Opera House does re-open, I will not be welcomed back." Maman sounded so defeated. I could do nothing but stare at her as all my anger drained away.

"That's not true, Maman." I muttered to the floor.

"Yes, Meg, it is. I knew the Phantom. The Phantom trusted me. Messieurs Firmin and Andre will never be able to let me be ballet mistress after what has happened." She walked over to me, placing her hands on my shoulders.

"But surely—" I started but Maman interrupted.

"No, my darling, sometimes there are just some things that you have to accept." She reached up a hand and tucked some hair behind my ear. "Besides, it won't be that bad. It's just London. It's not too far away."

"It's a completely different country, Maman. How can it not be far away?" My voice had become detached. I had so many emotions running through me that I didn't know which one to let out.

'Is this how the Phantom felt after Christine left him to his world of darkness? His world of loneliness?' That thought in and of it's self confused me even more. Since when did I start sympathizing with that creature? I shook my head slightly, trying to clear it.

"I'm sure, Maman, that you could find an adequate job here in Paris." By now I had lost whatever appetite I'd had.

"No, my dear, with the loss of both our home and all our worldly possessions, we will need as much money as we can get." She gave me a small smile, as if trying to chase away all the cruelties of life. "Now, my love, why don't we go and have some tea?" And without waiting for my answer Maman took my hand and gently led me into the kitchen, seating me down at our small wooden table, and placing the kettle on the stove. A tense silence fell over us while we waited for the water to boil.

After the tea was poured and Maman was sitting across from me, I chose to ask the question that had been floating in the back of my mind. "When do you leave?"

"In a week." Maman answered tightly. We fell back into a tense silence, slowly sipping our tea. Once my cup was empty I got up and without saying a word left for bed.

xxxxx

I know, I know. No Erik! Oh, the horror! Lord, the withdrawal!

I hope everyone liked this chapter, it was sort of a filler, just to get the plot rolling, ya know? Anyway, please review! Reviews keep me going and make me update faster! So please review, every single one will make my day!

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	4. The World Renowned Opera Populaire

Disclaimer: Nah-uh.

How horrible am I? I ask you guys to review so I'll update faster, and it's been what? Over two months since I last updated! And I got six reviews. SIX! I love you guys so much!

I'm so terribly sorry that it's been so long, it's been so crazy. I would write about a paragraph of this chapter and then I have to run off to do something. So it was slow going, but it's finally here! Yay!

And just to clear up any confusion Meg is going to be staying in France, she's not going to England with Madame Giry.

This chapter is dedicated to my six groovy reviewers: Phantomette of the Opera, Maska, Brit, A.O., musiclife, and OnerousOrangutang! You guys are absolutely amazing!

Please read and review! I promise I'll update faster this time!

Hansom Cab: Basically a horse and carriage taxi.

Chapter 4

The World Renowned Opera Populaire…

xxxxx

The silence that surrounded me in the auditorium was deafening. I kicked some debris from the stage as I stood with my hands behind my back and looked out at all the empty velveteen seats. As I stood there I realized the irony of it all. All I had wanted was to be left alone, and now I was alone with not even a single rat for company. And I longed for someone, anyone. I had never realized that without the residents living there, the Opera House was quite lonely. I had prepared myself for the thought of Christine rejecting me and leaving me to my world of darkness, but I had never thought that the Opera House would leave me behind also. Now all that was left was this empty shell of a theater. I had taken for granted all the people that worked and lived there, and even if they hadn't believed in my existence, they had always reminded me that there was a world out there, even if I wasn't part of it. I at least knew, subconsciously, that I wasn't alone. After the fire time seemed to have become suspended; watching, waiting, reminding me of the life I wasn't living…

-----

"Here you go, mademoiselle. Monsieur Andre's house." Percy said as he helped me out of the carriage.

"Merci, Percy." I said as the carriage drove off. I gazed up at the house, which I thought resembled something more like a manor, and noted that it looked like rain. I subconsciously tidied my appearance as I waited for the butler to answer the door.

The night before as I tossed and turned in bed after my cup of tea with Maman I had resolved not to let some silly man that goes by the name of 'The Opera Ghost' destroy my life. For it was his fault that the Opera House had burned down, therefore making Maman search for work elsewhere, therefore making her leave me in Paris as she goes gallivanting off to England.

I wasn't at all bitter. Honestly.

So the plan to talk to Monsieur Andre had been conceived. I would visit with him and have my hopes reinforced. He would tell me that Monsieur Firmin and himself already had plans in motion to reopen the Opera House with a wonderful new opera, pat me on the head, and send me on my way. I would return home, tell Maman the news, and she would "regretfully decline the position of ballet teacher" for Monsieur Cameron's daughter, and all would be well.

Now here I was, waiting for the door to open to Monsieur Andre's house.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle." Said the butler as he opened the door. "How may I help you?" He asked as he gave me a small bow.

"Bonjour, I'm Mademoiselle Giry, and I was hoping for an appearance with Monsieur Andre today." I said with a polite smile. He opened the door wider to let me in, and leaving me in the entrance hall, walked off to inform Monsieur Andre of my arrival. Some minutes later the butler returned and lead me through the house to a set of doors, and knocked slightly. A gruff "Enter" came from the other side. Monsieur Andre stood when I entered as the butler gave a slight bow, introduced me, gave another slight bow, and left.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Giry, so good to see you again." He motioned to a chair for me to sit in, "What can I do for you?" Monsieur Andre took his seat and poured me a cup of tea.

"Merci," I said as I accepted the offered teacup. "Well, Monsieur Andre," I said without any pretense, "I am here to inquire as to when you and Monsieur Firmin plan on reopening the Opera House. You see my mother has the strange idea that you do not plan on reopening the Opera House…" I trailed off. The confident reply of "Well, we plan to have construction on the Opera House starting within a week or two, and then we'll begin rehearsal for a new opera" was not to be found. In fact, I received no reply at all except for the measured stare that Monsieur Andre was giving me. I tried not to fidget under his gaze as I waited for his answer. The quiet ticking of a clock somewhere in the room only added to my discomfort. As the seconds stretched on I began rambling. "You know how much we all love the Opera House and I'm certain that I speak for everyone when I say that--"

"As it is, Mademoiselle Giry," Monsieur Andre cut me off, "Monsieur Firmin and I have no plans for reopening the Opera House."

"But, why?" I sputtered indignity.

"Because mademoiselle, it was a bad business venture on our part and we do not wish to lose any more money."

"But you won't lose any more money!" I argued.

'It's the Phantom!' I thought. 'Why else would they refuse to try and make more money?'

"The Phantom's dead, he can't torment the Opera House anymore!" I exclaimed, hoping I was a convincing liar. For I certainly didn't think that he was dead.

"That may very well be true, but we'd rather not risk it."

"But what about me—the corps de ballet, everybody?" I asked, desperate.

"I am truly sorry, but both Monsieur Firmin and I would gladly recommend you to any other theater."

My mind was racing. How could they not reopen the Opera House? My home? That couldn't be it. There had to be another way for me to get the Opera House reopened. Appeal to their business sense? Promise them the making of more money? But how? With the Opera House in ruins it would take all their fortune and more to rebuild, and then we'd have to have an opera so amazing that people would gladly spend large amounts of money buying tickets.

An idea filtered through my mind, but I pushed it aside quickly. It was impossible. The Phantom almost killed me the last time I saw him, why in the world would he want to help? He wouldn't. Simple as that. But what if I could convince him? Preposterous. I had not the slightest idea as to how to appeal to his sense of business either.

'But if you did, it could work,' a tiny voice in the back of my head insisted. 'Nothing bad will come of just asking him.' It continued to argue.

'Except for the fact that he might kill me,' I argued back.

'He won't kill you.' The voice continued.

'No, he'll just threaten to.'

I could hear the voice laughing at my cowardice. 'Maybe. But maybe not.'

"What if you had a new opera that was guaranteed to sell seats?" I rushed out. "Would you reopen it?" Monsieur Andre stared off into space as if considering it.

"Perhaps. Depends on how many seats it would sell. But it doesn't matter because we don't have such an opera." Monsieur Andre said in slow, measured words.

"But if you did?" I pushed.

"Perhaps, mademoiselle, perhaps."

For next few minutes Monsieur Andre carried on a conversation (mainly with himself) about dull things that men are suppose to talk to women about; weather, a new neighbor moving in across the street, and such.

Finally, once I had finished my tea, I bid Monsieur Andre a good day, claiming I had other errands to attend to.

"The Opera Populaire, please." I directed as I climbed into the carriage. I was determined to see that opera house alive and thriving again, and so help me God, nobody was going to stop me.

-----

Maman had an appointment to meet with Madame Romilly in the afternoon and had bid me not to keep the carriage all day, so after being driven to the Opera Populaire I ordered the carriage home to take Maman on her errands for the day, planning on walking the distance to our apartment once I had talked with the Phantom. But I soon realized that it would take more than my sheer determination to get to the Phantom.

I let out a cry of frustration and kicked the wall as yet another board refused to budge. They had boarded up the Opera Populaire. Not a single soul would be able to get in unless they possessed the strength of one of those men in the circus that could lift two tons, which I certainly couldn't do. I had been slowly circling the Opera House for the better part of an hour trying to find a loose board that I could pull out. But, as I came to realize, they were resolved not let anyone in there. Or let anyone out, maybe.

I slid down the wall to the ground, leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes. I'd have to start heading home soon as it was getting to be evening, and walking the streets of Paris, un-chaperoned, was dangerous enough, but walking them in the dark wasn't just dangerous, it was asking for all kinds of trouble. Part of my mind argued that I should just go back home and try again another day, but the other side of my brain knew that if I headed back now I'd manage to talk myself out of meeting with the Phantom, and at that moment in time he seemed to be my only way of bringing the Opera House back to what it use to be.

I snapped my eyes open as I felt a rain drop land on my head. The sky had darkened considerably since I'd been at Monsieur Andre's house and a light rain began to fall. I stood up convincing myself that a little rain never hurt anybody and continued my inspection of the Opera House's boarded up windows.

As I came around the back to the kitchen entrance and stables thunder roared in the distance and the light rain turned into a heavy downpour. I let out a groan and ran towards the kitchen door hoping maybe they had subsequently forgotten to lock and board it, but I had no such luck. Now thoroughly soaked and only getting wetter I ducked into the stables. I kicked a nearby crate and fought the urge to let out a scream of irritation as lighting streaked across the sky. It seemed that all the world was against the reopening of the Opera Populaire! I couldn't even get in, how was I suppose to convince the Phantom and Messieurs Firmin and Andre that the Opera Populaire deserved to be reopened?

I dropped onto the crate and pulled my cape tighter around me, trying to keep out the chill that being wet usually brings, and prayed that the storm wouldn't last.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, mademoiselle," a voice said behind me. I jumped up, knocking the crate over, and spun around expecting to find a bandit seeking shelter from the rain wielding a knife. But I found nobody. "I would think that you'd have more sense than to wander the streets of Paris alone without a chaperone." I started turning slowly in a circle trying to find where the voice was coming from, but stopped short when I came face to face with the Opera Ghost himself. I let out a gasp in surprise and backed up remembering our last meeting, thinking, not for the first time, that this was not the best idea. "But then again you are nothing but a ballet rat and sense is not a common trait among such vermin."

"M-mo-monsieur," I stuttered.

"Why are you here?" The Phantom hissed out.

"I-I wis-sh--" I stopped, closed my eyes, and let out a breath slowly, calming myself, then started again. "I wish to talk with you about certain things concerning the Opera Populaire." My voice was almost as cold as the Phantom's.

The Phantom took a step toward me as I took a step back. "You wish to talk with me about certain things concerning the Opera Populaire?" The Phantom repeated in a high voice, mocking me.

"Yes." I said, my voice hard as steel. The Phantom took another step towards me in a predatory way, and I started getting the feeling that I was prey being trapped in a corner. "Well, you see, Messieurs Firmin and Andre seem to have no intention of opening the Opera House again, but I need to have it reopened, otherwise Maman will teach this brat in England and leave me here, and I can't allow that to happen, so we need to get the Opera House running again as soon as possible…" I trailed off, realizing that I'd been rambling.

The Phantom regarded me as if I belonged in the circus, which I probably did, or an insane asylum. I jumped as thunder sounded above us, followed quickly by a flash of lighting. A silenced descended upon us with only the rain hitting the roof as a source of sound. As the seconds ticked by, the Phantom continued to stare at me strangely, until finally, after what felt like an eternity of being scrutinized, a slow, mocking, callous laugh escaped the Phantom's throat.

"Are you saying that you want me to help you restore my Opera House? Help the people that wanted me killed?" His asked this with such fury and such condescension that I felt like a small child being told the sky was blue. He gave another small, heartless chuckle before continuing. "Mademoiselle, you are sadly mistaken if you think that I would ever want to help _you_." The Phantom had expected me to be embarrassed and to turn and run away, back to Maman and the safety of our apartment, but I was too angry to be embarrassed.

"Oh, stop acting like the world is out to get you! Here you are, angry about being pre-judged, but you won't even listen to what I have to say!" I walked towards the Phantom, leaving only a little more than a foot between us and jabbed a finger at his chest. "You won't even listen to what I have to say! You're judging _me_ before I've even told you my plan!" I jabbed my finger at his chest again. "_You_, monsieur, are a hypocrite!" I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him a smug look, feeling quite victorious.

I expected the Phantom to throw a fit of some kind but he merely looked down at his chest where I had poked him, dusted off the area as if I had left filth there, and looked back up at me with a hard look.

"Do not touch me again, mademoiselle."

Or else.

The unsaid threat hung in the air between us. I shifted from one foot to the other, uncertain as how to continue.

"I was thinking--" I stopped.

'Maybe it would be better to appeal to his vanity.' The voice nagged.

"I need an opera." I started again. "I need one that will sell to Messieurs Firmin and Andre. It needs to sell seats. It needs to appeal to Messieurs Andre and Firmin 's fondness for profit. It needs to be extraordinary." I locked eyes with the Phantom and dared him to look away. "In a sense, I need you." I watched the Phantom, hoping for a reaction. I don't know why I cared, but I wanted to see him react to my words. He didn't. "You are the only person I could think of that would be able to write something spectacular. You have the talent. You have the genius. You have--"

"The name?" The Phantom spat. "That's what you really want, isn't it, mademoiselle? To have an opera with the words 'Composed by The Opera Ghost' written beneath the title?" Here he gave a little laugh that made my blood run cold. "Oh yes, that will sell many seats. People will kill to see an opera written by the Opera Ghost himself. Am I right, mademoiselle?"

In truth, that thought had never crossed my mind.

"Passion. You have the passion. That's what I was going to say. Before I was rudely interrupted." I mumbled the last part. The anger seemed to drain a little from the Phantom's face. "And besides," I continued, "who would want to go see an opera by you when the last one turned out so monstrous." I laughed a little at my own joke, thinking I was fairly witty, before I saw the Phantom's humorless face and turned my laugh into a cough. "Anyway, you wouldn't have your name on it. Most seem to think you're dead, so I can see why you'd want to remain anonymous. Nobody would have to know you wrote it."

"And what would I get from this bargain?" Ah yes, hadn't thought that far yet. But the Phantom now seemed willing to listen to what I had to say.

"Well… what do you want?" I questioned uncertainly.

"That is a very dangerous bargain to make, mademoiselle." He admonished.

"It's a bargain that I am willing to make." I said matter-of-factly. "Give me an opera and I'll give you something you want." I held out my hand, ready to shake it with the Phantom's, willing to make such a bargain.

Nothing changed on the Phantom's face but his eyes held bewilderment and disbelief. His gaze trailed from my eyes down to my extended hand then snapped back up to my eyes again. "No." He stated.

My extended hand went limp and my jaw slackened. "Excuse me, monsieur?"

"No." A smirk graced the Phantom's face. "I like my solitude. I don't need a little ballet rat ruining it just because her darling mother is leaving her behind and getting on with her life."

I was shocked; I thought that I had actually convinced him to help. "But surely monsieur there must be something you want!"

"There are many things I want, mademoiselle." The Phantom mumbled and turned to watch the rainfall.

"I can get it for you! Money? Food? Anything!" I exclaimed. I wouldn't let him say no. I needed an opera. I needed his help.

"Your naiveté is endearing, mademoiselle, but I am not lacking in either money or food." He said quietly.

"Then what?" I pushed.

"You do not think before you speak, mademoiselle. If we made this bargain there are many things I could ask you to do. And you'd be bound to do it. The Opera Ghost never forgets a deal."

"And I'd honor that deal." I said as I walked into his line of vision.

"Would you now? What if I told you to kill somebody? Christine? Your mother? Yourself?" I shuddered at the thought and at the cold look in his eye. "Or something worse?" At that he raked his eyes over my body, and I didn't need to be told twice what he was implying. I took a deep, calming breath, convincing myself that he was just trying to scare me.

"You wouldn't do that." I said trying to sound collected, even though my voice cracked on the last syllable.

"How would you know, mademoiselle?" He said as he pushed passed me and walked out into the pouring rain.

"But, I need your help, monsieur!" I yelled at his back. He kept walking and I raced after him. I slipped and landed in the mud, slowing me down, and by the time I had caught up with him he had reached the front of the Opera House. A sneer rose to his face as he took in my muddied appearance.

"Monsieur," I begged as he turned and walked down the street and turned a corner. Not a soul was in sight due to the weather, and I wondered where he could be going. He stopped at the corner of the next street that was extremely busy with carriages passing back and forth. "Please, monsieur." I begged again as I came to stop beside him, slightly out of breath. With my tight corset I wasn't use such exertion in it.

The Phantom gave my appearance another once over before pulling a fedora from his cape and placing it on his head so that it covered all of his mask and most of the other side of his face in shadow. "I suggest, mademoiselle, that you go home before you catch ill." And stepping onto the busy street he raised his hand and hailed a Hansom cab. The driver seemed to be trying his hardest to stay dry, even though he wasn't doing a very good job.

I stepped over to the Phantom; I was enraged. "So is that all you're going to say?"

Completely ignoring me, he handed the driver a pouch of francs and said, "Take the lady to whatever destination she desires." And before I could object he grabbed my hand and thrust me into the carriage.

I opened my mouth to berate the Phantom, but not a sound would come out. I couldn't think of a single thing to say.

Upon seeing me speechless the Phantom gave a small, mocking bow and said, "Good day, mademoiselle." Turning to the driver he gave a slight nod of the head, and then slapped the horse's backside, sending me down the street, with nothing to do but turn and look out at the retreating form of the Phantom.

xxxxx

Tsk tsk tsk. What are we going to do with Erik? Wallowing in self-pity and being so stubborn, I don't know how Meg will fall in love with him like that…

Maska: Can I just say how jealous I am of you? I would kill to live in London! Thanks for pointing out my geography problems. I went back and fixed them. Monsieur Cameron now lives near Parliament and Big Ben! Thanks for all your reviews! And I don't mind the nit picking at all, so you can nit pick all you want!

I hope everybody enjoyed this chapter! Please review! I need those reviews! I need them like I need oxygen! So please review!

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